Twin Sins
by HeavensScribe
Summary: Altair enters a mission, but Al-Mualim leaves out one crucial detail... Altair/OC, slight Malik/OC if you look at it in the right light. Pre-game era.
1. Chapter 1: Midday

**Disclaimer: I do not own Assassin's Creed. I only own my OC, this story, and the clothes on my back.**

Chapter 1: Midday Confusion

The sun beat down unrelentingly on Jerusalem as midday reached it's peak. Jar carriers weaved through the streets as they tried to shake off the persistent beggars who stood in their paths pleading for their spare change. Sweat rolled down the faces of merchants and guards who gallantly faced the scorching sun in search of profit and thieves respectively. Townsfolk crowded underneath what little shade was offered by the merchant's overhangs, much to the delight of the owners while others stood by the fountain in hopes the sprinkling drops would cool them.

The heat was particularly unbearable for a hooded figure who had taken a place on one of the rooftops, kneeling at the edge of the building just out of sight of those on the streets. The figure was staring at the crowd intensely, watching one spot in particular: the corner of a building that blocked the alleyway behind it. A guard turned the corner and the figure tensed, clenching the knife in its palm anxiously. Just a little closer...

Altair sat patiently on a bench looking as uninteresting as he could. His elbows were propped solidly on his knees as he leaned forward in his seat, his face hidden by his ever-present hood. A couple of the townsfolk would regard him with a sweeping glance before continuing on with their business and forgetting all about the intimidating man on the bench.

Altair's ears perked when he heard the unmistakable jingling of chain mail.

The target appeared around the corner right on time, watching the abundant townsfolk suspiciously. The figure on the rooftop smirked. Little did the poor guard know his reaper would strike from above. She focused on his throat, where his armor didn't cover him. Her plan was to nick the guard's throat and hope her knife then continued to the fountain at the center of the square so she could pick it up later. The guards would never know what had happened.

As the figure drew its knife back, it noticed a white-cloaked man tailing its target. The man was wearing robes that were familiar. _Too_ familiar. Just before she threw her knife, the man stabbed her target from behind and continued walking by casually while people screamed and ran away. She saw the man disappear into an alleyway while guards yelled curses and ran towards the scene openly demanding the murderer reveal himself.

The woman frowned. Someone was interfering with her mission and that was something she did _not_ appreciate. Without any forethought, she ran across the rooftops to where she could see into the alleyway. In the shaded street, it only took her an instant to spot his white garb. He was walking slowly with a sense of purpose, keeping his head down and giving him a meek look.

She ran over the building to where she was just in front of the man, then jumped down to the street. He must have heard her coming, because he started to look up, but she struck his head with the hilt of her knife, dazing him. She took advantage of his pain and forced him against the wall, one of her throwing knives at his neck.

"Who are you and why did you steal my target?" she demanded, disappointment and mirth evident in her voice. The man, though disoriented, did not take kindly to having a knife at his throat. Before she could react he had grabbed the knife from her and grabbed her arm, throwing her into the wall behind him while he held her own knife to her throat. The girl's breath caught as the knife slid across the sensitive skin of her neck, not quite breaking skin, but definitely in a position to do so. "Who are you?" he demanded, pressing her against the rough alley wall. She glared at the man from under her hood. The shadow of his own hood covered his eyes from view, but from the line of his mouth, she could tell he was deadly serious. She would have shaken her head if she had had the room.

"It's not polite to ask for someone's name before giving their own" she said, perfectly aware that she had expected him to give up his name not seconds ago. When she glanced up to where she guessed his eyes would be, he tensed and pushed her more forcefully into the wall, the knife dangerously close to slicing her skin. He grabbed her hood and ignored her protests as he pulled it down, revealing a young brunette with mid-length wavy hair.

As the sounds of taunting guards became noticeably louder, the man glanced towards the opening of the alleyway. A group of guards was passing by the alley when they stopped and peered in. The man cursed quietly and dashed off, still holding the woman's knife. The girl looked at the five guards blocking the alleyway exit and blanched.

"Assassin!" the guard cried when he saw her, reaching for his sword as he did. "_Crap_!" the girl thought, then she sprinted down the alley, securing her hood as she did. She glanced back to see three guards already chasing after her. "_Great,_" she thought, turning down a side alleyway. To her glee, she spotted a ladder propped up against the wall. Knowing the guards weren't far behind, she practically jumped onto the ladder, making it sway unnervingly as she hastily climbed to the top. When she was just a few rungs from the top, she heard the whiz of an arrow behind her. She yelped as it sliced her upper arm, almost making her lose her grip on the ladder. Luckily she was able to pull herself onto the rooftop before the guard could load another goddamn arrow. She held her arm tightly to stem the pain, pressing her robe against the wound to keep her blood from dripping on the rooftop as she frantically searched for somewhere to hide. She was in luck: on the next rooftop she spotted the corner of a shaded garden. Letting go of her injured arm, she leaped across the gap and rolled along the rooftop to ease the impact of the landing. Unfortunately the shoulder she used to roll on was the same arm that had been shot by the arrow, and grit from the roof dug into her arm. She winced and grabbed her arm as soon as she got up. She _really_ hated those damn arrows. She quickly ran over to the garden and risked a look around before climbing in.

She heard the guards swarm the adjacent rooftop, shouting to each other as they tried to determine where she'd gone. She laid as close to the ground as she could taking shallow, controlled breaths through her mouth so they didn't make a sound. The other two guards seemed to have joined up with her pursuers, judging by the number of voices she heard. She heard a heavy thud, then light steps around the rooftop where she hid. The woman listened intently. There was only one set of footsteps, which was good for her, for that meant the guards didn't know where she was. Unfortunately, the garden was the one place she could hide on the roof. As silently as she could, she rolled to the side of the box that was farthest from the edge of the building and pressed up against it as best she could.

Her throwing knives let off a soft cling as she adjusted herself, freezing her to the spot. The footsteps halted for a second, then headed to where she hid.

It took all of her willpower to not draw a knife. If the guard opened the curtain, the first thing the sun would catch would be the reflective blade of a knife and she would definitely be caught. She convinced herself it would be better to wait until the last possible moment.

The curtain above her was flung open and the bearded face of a guard poked in inquiringly. His eyes swept the garden concisely, taking quite a bit longer than the woman found comfortable. Finally he let the drape fall back into place and walked away.

Only when the woman was sure he was no longer on the roof did she roll onto her back and took a few deep breaths. Her heartbeat was trained to be lower in high stress situations, but as a result, it quickened immediately afterward. She crawled to the edge of the garden and lifted the cloth enough to check the rooftops. When she was sure it was clear of guards, she clamored out of the shade and took a better survey of the surrounding area. The guards would be looking for her now, so she couldn't roam the streets, and though she normally preferred traveling by rooftop, it wouldn't be as easy or as fun with just one arm. She let out a disappointed sigh before taking a running start and landing on an adjacent building. She continued across the city in this way, being sure to avoid any guards who were glancing around suspiciously. Eventually she made it to her safe haven; the only building in the city with a roof entrance. The Bureau.

**So this is my Assassin's Creed fanfiction! I'm pretty excited about this one because I love the games and the setting they take place in. Also, I wanted to write an Altair fanfiction with NO TIME TRAVEL because I personally do not believe in time travel... except through alternate dimensions, but I won't go into that now. I can't promise weekly or bi-weekly updates because of my workload this semester, but I will churn them out as time allows. I hope you enjoyed it! :)**


	2. Chapter 2: The Bureau

**Wow! When I started this story, I had no idea it would be so well received! I want to start by thanking all of the people who favorited Twin Sins or put it on their story alert! It's because of all of you that I polished off Chapter 2! I apologize for the delay in updating... college got **_**way**_** harder than I had been expecting and life in general kinda threw me for a loop, but hopefully with summer here, I'll be able to update more often. Please enjoy Chapter 2 of Twin Sins! =D**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Assassin's Creed. I only own the plotline and my OC on the occasional Sunday.**

Chapter 2: The Bureau

The robed woman fell clumsily into the Bureau, landing awkwardly on one foot before collapsing onto the dusty floor. She winced as she pushed herself up with her good hand. She never did like the roof entrance of the Bureau. A muffled conversation reached her ears as she limped towards the doorway. Without thinking, she walked in, regretting the action immediately when a hand wrapped around her neck and pinned her to the wall behind her.

The metal knife that sat against her neck was uncomfortably warm from the afternoon sun. The woman shut one eye in discomfort while the other one watched the man in front of her warily. "How did you follow me here?" he barked.

"Altair! Stop!" another voice commanded and the two both looked behind the counter where a dark-skinned man stood. He rushed from behind his stand and shot Altair a harsh look. "You should know who your brethren are, Altair."

The assassin's face contorted in confusion as he looked from Malik to the girl. She pouted at the new arrival, forgetting the knife at her throat. "Malik! He took my kill!" she complained, pointing at the man in front of her.

Altair was shocked by her childishness. Surely someone like _this_ couldn't be a part of the Brotherhood? He glanced at Malik and slowly backed away from the girl, keeping his knife at the ready. The girl brushed off her tunic carefully to avoid injuring her arm further, but it was then that Malik noticed the unusual red patch on her sleeve.

"Myra!" he berated, causing the girl to look at him questioningly. He grabbed her arm, but she pulled it away. "I'm fine, Malik," she said hastily, trying to hide the wound with her hand. She winced as Malik yanked her hand away and inspected the gash that bled from just below her shoulder to her elbow. He sighed. "You're lucky it's not any worse than it is. I'll gather some bandages, wait in the back for me. Myra nodded, but didn't make it a step before she stumbled, quickly gripping the wall for support. Under Malik's unamused gaze, she sheepishly added, "I might have twisted my ankle coming in." The dark-skinned man sighed, looped one of Myra's arms around his shoulder and led her past Altair to the back room. Myra stumbled again as they passed the male assassin, accidentally brushing against his arm. Altair sent the woman a harsh look before brushing off his sleeve in disgust and stalking to the wall where he leaned against it, watching the female assassin with his hawk-like eyes.

"A woman assassin," he thought in derision. "She probably hasn't had the stomach to kill a man yet." But yet she wore their robes and Malik knew of her, which unfortunately gave some credence to her story. He crossed his arms over his chest when he realized he was missing something. "Wait..." Altair brought his hand out in front of him to realize his hand was empty. The knife! Where had the knife gone? He glanced at the back door in time to catch Myra disappearing through it as she peered back at him, a smug look on her face. Rage coursed through him as he recalled her "stumble" next to him. That had to have been when that _woman _had taken the knife! He started towards the door, getting to the desk before pounding his fists on the counter in his anger. She wouldn't get the best of him again, that he would ensure.

Myra surreptitiously slipped her reacquired knife back into its sheath while Malik led her to to a pile of thin but ornate pillows stacked against one of the walls in the back room. He sat her down carefully, then sternly told her not to touch anything while he gathered his medical supplies from the front room. Myra settled herself against the cushions and by the time she was comfortable, Malik had returned with a few bottles, a rag, and bandages. He knelt down next to her and set down his materials. "Keep still," he said steadily. Malik held her hand gently tugged the sleeve of her robe up to her shoulder and exposing the cut on her arm. Seeing the condition of her wound, Malik glanced at the girl sharply.

"Do you not know how to take care of yourself?" Malik asked sharply, pouring water onto his rag and cleaning the abrasion. She turned her head and lifted her arm a bit to see the cut on her arm covered in dirt and sand, mixing with her blood to make a gritty substance. She frowned. "I was being chased, Malik! What do you expect me to do with my arm! I needed it!" Myra retorted.

"I expect you to deal with your own injuries!" he snapped back, opening another bottle and holding her arm straight as he poured the contents directly over her wound. Myra took a pained breath through clenched teeth. "That's the reason I try to hide my injuries from you," she muttered, earning her another exacerbated look from Malik. His hand remained on her wrist, pulling on it lightly as his other hand slid up her arm, his fingertips drifting lightly over her skin as he dabbed the alcohol from her arm. Myra's eyes drifted shut for just a moment before fluttering open, just catching Malik's amused expression as he returned his attention to her arm. He applied a cool salve to her arm, rubbing it carefully onto her wound before wrapping a clean white cloth around Myra's arm and securing it with a sturdy knot.

"Now show me your ankle," he ordered as he set the bandages aside. Myra reluctantly removed her right boot, which was made difficult by Malik's glare when she tried to use the arm he had just bandaged. Eventually he helped her, grabbing her shoe and sliding it off to reveal her ankle, which was already starting to swell. Malik gave the young woman a curious look. "You say you twisted it as you were entering the Bureau?" he asked, taking her ankle in his hands and prodding the tender flesh. Myra nodded, watching him as he ran his fingers over her injury. His touch was rough, but surprisingly gentle as he moved her foot around.

For once, Malik smirked. "For one who prides herself on her agility in climbing, you have a problem coming down from your perch," he teased as he again reached for his bandages and began to wrap her swollen ankle.

Myra flushed at his statement. "Climbing and falling with grace are two completely different things. I have never claimed to be good at falling," she countered. She glanced to the side, hoping to hide her pink cheeks and avoid further embarrassment.

Malik chuckled, glancing away from his work for a moment to see her blush. "But landings are an essential part of climbing," he countered smoothly as he tore the bandage from the roll and tied it tightly.

Myra glanced down at her now-wrapped ankle, testing the mobility of the bandage. She smiled; the wrap only limited her ankle minimally, which was good, because she knew she would need to climb for this next mission. "Who needs to land well when you can fix me up so well, Malik?" she praised, smirking at him as she replaced her boot. She jumped to her feet and her ankle instantly gave out, causing her to trip into Malik with a sharp intake of breath.

Malik caught her by the arms, careful to avoid her bandages. Her hands had gripped his shoulders as she had fallen, bringing the two of them closer than they had ever been before. Malik glanced down at her with a slight smirk and one eyebrow raised. "It doesn't seem you're quite ready to bound around yet, Myra," he stated teasingly.

Myra smiled in return. "It's a process," she replied, her dark brown eyes twinkling with the same mirth. She wanted to reach up and stroke his scruffy jaw, to run her hand through his cropped hair, but she knew if she did, it wouldn't end well. She had a job to attend to, and according to Al-Mualim, time was of the essence.

The young woman tore her eyes away from Malik's, letting her hands run absently down his arms as she tested her weight on her injured foot, rolling her ankle around a bit. "I should be able to walk now," she finally said, peeking up at Malik. He raised his eyebrows again, slowly letting go of her arms. "Then come, I must tell you what Al-Mualim has planned for the two of you," he explained as he walked out the door. Myra followed him slowly. Already she was beginning to feel worried about this task. Things had already gone wrong, and it didn't seem they would be getting any better.


	3. Chapter 3: Target Set

**Wow, this has been a doozy of a year, but it's finally summer and I have a week before I start working! My apologies for the LOOONG long gap between chapter two and three and the shortness of this chapter. This was probably the chapter I was least excited about, but it's necessary for the plot. Please enjoy!**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Assassin's Creed, but I own Myra on days I'm wearing green.**

Chapter 3: Target Set

The moment Myra stepped through the door, she felt Altair's eyes boring into her. She peered over at him with a cocky twinkle in her cocoa eyes as she followed Malik to the other side of the counter. Altair's eyes narrowed, anger prickling at his fingertips. He flexed his hand, the slick sound of his hidden blade unsheathing calming him somewhat. He stood up straight from the wall he had been leaning on, peering darkly at Malik from under his hood. He had almost left while Malik and that girl had been in the back room, but he wanted answers. Why was this woman after his targets? His eyes shifted to the brunette whose hood hung behind her. She looked nothing like an Assassin – she looked like she would run in fear from anything larger than a flea – so why had Al-Mualim made her an Assassin?

Myra ignored Altair's gaze and took a place near the counter, resting a hand on it and again testing the limits of her ankle. By the time Malik was done with his explanation, she wanted nearly full use of her ankle.

Malik stood behind his counter, coughing slightly to gain Altair's attention, which was focused solely on glaring at Myra. The assassin sent a sharp glare at Malik before begrudgingly leaning back against the wall, his arms crossed as he ran his fingers absently over his hidden blade. Malik glanced over at Myra, then began his explanation.

"You are both wondering why you were sent here, so I will be brief. Your mission is to assassinate two brothers, Mathai and Suhaim Al-Diri. They are the leaders of a religious extremist group run by the Templars and they are inciting their followers to take up arms against Masyaf. Now, normally only one of you would be able to complete this mission," Malik paused to glance at Altair, whose icy gaze was trained on him, "but for this mission, both brothers need to be killed at the exact same moment. If either brother is killed, there is an instant alert sent throughout the complex. The second brother is ushered to safety within three minutes and the entire congregation moves within the next week. If that happens, we won't have another chance to strike until the congregation reappears, which could be months and they could be anywhere. We cannot let either of the brothers live. And so..." Malik glanced between the two assassins, "Al-Mualim wants the both of you for this mission."

The room was tense as Myra and Altair locked eyes. A shock passed through Myra at the intensity of Altair's gaze. It was as if he was staring directly into her mind, sifting through her thoughts... her fears. Her hand traveled slowly to her throwing knives, the rough feel of the handles comforting her against the killer's stare. She finally managed to brake the glass-like gaze she held with Altair and glanced at Malik. He was glaring at Altair intently, his hand clenched by his side.

Altair still stared at the woman, aware of Malik's heated gaze but unfazed by it. The corners of his lips turned down, his eyebrows knitting together. There was no way he would be able to work with this... woman. She was beneath him. He could have easily killed both brothers before they disappeared. Why Al-Mualim had decided that he needed a...partner... was unclear, but he would personally ensure that this travesty never happened again. He let a small smirk show when he noticed her hand on her knives. Obviously she was not as confident as she tried to appear.

He finally acknowledged Malik, making sure to dissemble the brief smirk he had allowed. "I can complete this mission on my own," he stated defiantly.

Malik shook his head strictly. "Al-Mualim wants you both to take care of this, so that is how it shall be."

"I will not lower myself to work with a _woman_," Altair stated harshly, sending yet another glare towards the young assassin. "I am a Master Assassin; she will only slow me down. She would be of more use to the brotherhood in a brothel," he spat condescendingly as he turned on his heel and walked towards the exit.

Malik's eyes widened at Altair's words but quickly narrowed dangerously. He opened his mouth to refute Altair's brash statement, but he was interrupted by the young brunette behind him.

"Then how about a contest?" Myra asked, a small smile beginning to form on her lips. "The one to bring back the most information in three days' time will be the victor." She knew it was insanity to challenge a Master Assassin, especially the famously-volatile Altair, but that was her nature. She loved games, and she almost never lost one.

Altair stopped at the doorway, his head turning just far enough for his eyes to burn the woman over his shoulder. "Do you honestly think you would even be an obstacle for me?" he asked darkly, just barely restraining his temper.

Myra cocked her head slightly in thought. "Then why not accept?" she asked plainly.

"I have nothing to prove to you, and I have no time for useless games!" Altair snapped, and he stalked out of the room, the soft clang of metal against metal echoed as the Master Assassin climbed out of the Bureau.

Once Altair had left, Malik let out a low sigh he hadn't known he'd been holding and ran his hand through his hair. He had known that Altair would resist the idea of working with another, especially a woman, but he had hoped the mention of Al-Mualim would make him more amenable. Unfortunately, he now seemed even more stubborn. He glanced at Myra who was running a hand through her hair, a competitive glint shining in her eyes and the half-smile still in place. "What will you do now, Myra?" he asked sagely.

Myra turned her smile to him and shook the loose hair from her hand. "Win," she replied before sprinting towards the exit, pulling her hood up as she went. She launched herself up the wall and quickly disappeared over the ledge.

Malik watched the woman until she made it to the roof, shaking his head as a chuckle escaped him. The woman had seemingly endless reserves of energy. He wouldn't have believed she had been injured a scant 20 minutes ago if he hadn't bandaged her himself. There was no doubt in his mind that the the woman would return with even more injuries, he just hoped none of them would be caused by Altair. With another sigh, he gathered his own robes. He would need to find _two_ white feathers for this flight.

**I _hope_ to have the next chapter out soon, but the next couple of days are busy for me. I do have the story planned out, I just need to, well, write it. I'm also posting a Sorcerer's Apprentice fanfiction a friend and I wrote, so if you're interested, check it out!**

**Until next time,**

**-HeavensScribe**


	4. Chapter 4: Payback

**Soooo I know it's been forever and a half, but I promise, this story will not die! It may not come out... often, but I will finish it, I swear! One of the reasons this particular chapter took so long was that I really wanted it to be right and, after God-knows-how-many hours of tweaking, I think it's finally where I want it to be. I'm actually quite happy with it, and I hope you enjoy it as much as I have! Thanks for sticking with me! :)**

Chapter 4: Payback

The sun was high in the sky as Myra weaved through the crowd, stalking her target. The Al Diri brothers were hosting a private gathering of people wishing to join their cause, but in order to gain entrance, each person needed a golden pin. Fortunately, the man she was following just happened to have one in his possession.

Her mark was a wiry, rat-faced man who was dressed well enough to be distinguished as a visiting emissary, yet plain enough to tell that he was not in a position of true power. He would not be missed at the meeting, Myra thought, grinning from under her hood. All she needed was to relieve him of his pin.

The man proved to be a harder mark than she expected. As his countenance suggested, the man was compulsively paranoid, constantly looking over his shoulder and stopping in sparsely populated areas to check for followers before moving on. He had almost spotted her a few times, but she had managed to duck away each time, if only barely. In frustration, she took to the rooftops, hoping the height would allow her to track the man unnoticed. She flowed across the rooftops with practiced ease, keeping an eye on her target and trying to determine his final destination.

Myra scowled when she realized where the man was heading. It was a heavily-guarded area of the town that surrounded the fortress of a church that the Al-Diri brothers had commandeered. She could probably infiltrate the compound if she had to, but with the delicate nature of this particular mission, she shouldn't try it. She would have to lift his pin before he reached the gates.

She managed to drop down to the street moments before her mark turned the corner. She lingered near a crowd of people, waiting until the rat-faced man passed her before slinking behind him. Her hand reached tentatively for the pouch. Suddenly, the man stumbled, giving Myra an opportunity to loosen one of the strings of his pouch and palm it before sliding past him to hear his low mutter of discontent. Just before she disappeared down a nearby alleyway, she heard a shocked yelp and cursing and she smirked triumphantly as she blended into the shadows. 

Myra waited until she was alone to sift through the contents of the man's purse. A cursory search yielded only a few coins and some vellum, but no pin. Myra's heart twitched and she rummaged through the pouch again, a hint of panic coloring her movements. Her fingers finally closed around a tiny piece of gold and she smiled, tension seeping from her body as she pulled out the tiny trinket. It was actually quite beautiful. The pin was an intricately woven wire relief of a cross stitched onto a golden sun. A perfect symbol for a religious cult. 

A fluttering of white fabric caught her attention and her head snapped up, catching a glimpse of a hooded man as he crossed the alley. His stride was focused – determined. Altair. And from the look of it, he had marked someone. Myra paused for a second, then a mischievous smile slid onto her face. She tied the pouch onto her belt and ran towards the side of the building ahead of her, catapulting herself up the wall and onto the rooftops. It was time for some payback.

She tracked the master assassin from above, quickly identifying his target. He was a man she recognized as one of Al-Diri's enforcers, Yakir Kiman. It was likely that Altair hoped to interrogate him and then dispose of him, but she knew Yakir. He wouldn't talk; he was too devoted to the Al-Diri brothers' cause. Still, this could work in her favor. Resolved, she sprinted after the pair, keeping watch from above like a hawk hunting its prey.

Altair waited until Yakir led him to a secluded area before he made his move. Without hesitation, he lashed out, grabbing the Kiman by the neck and slamming his head into a wall. Yakir's head bounced back from the impact, a silent scream widening his mouth as Altair spun him around and punched him in the stomach. The enforcer attempted a jab at Altair's face, but the assassin dodged it and shoved the man's head into the wall once again. Altair grabbed Yakir by the neck of his cloak and hoisted him straight up. The two men remained this way for a moment, and even though Myra wasn't close enough to hear them, she could tell from the murmur of their lips that Altair was asking his questions. Likewise, from his increasingly frustrated expression, she could tell that Yakir was not cooperating. The assassin shook his mark, earning a wince for his efforts. Myra's eyes sharpened in concentration, drawing a knife from her pouch. Altair was not patient; he would make his move soon.

Sure enough, Altair lowered one of his arms and she saw the gleam of his hidden blade as it slid from his palm. It was time. Myra took aim and loosed her knife, watching it soar through the air and embed itself in Yakir's neck. 

Altair flinched, taking the knife from Yakir's throat before his eyes shot to the roof where Myra stood. She lingered near the edge just long enough to flash a smirk at Altair before disappearing. Altair growled angrily, gripping the knife in his hand so tightly his nails dug into his palm as he dashed towards the building Myra had occupied and launched himself up the side. How dare she kill his target! The man was his to deal with – his to kill. For her to take his kill was insulting and embarrassing. He reached the roof immediately ran for the spire that spiraled high in the sky. He would find that damnable woman, and when he did, she would regret ever crossing his path.

Myra dropped down to the streets, keeping her head down as she mingled with the populace. Adrenaline rushed through her, making her restless and plastering a smile on her face. It wasn't just the rush of the kill – that she was accustomed to. She allowed a shiver to pass through her. It was the danger of crossing a master assassin. She had taken his target out from under him, and the thrill of being hunted by such a worthy adversary was almost intoxicating.

She pulled out a shard of glass that she had fashioned into a mirror and used it to scout covertly behind her, making sure to check the roofs. Nothing out of the ordinary. She hid it back in her robes and ducked into a nearby alley - no need to stay out in the open any longer than necessary. She spotted a ladder leaning against the side of one of the walls and instinctively headed towards it, climbing to the top. She felt far safer above the streets. 

Myra's hands clasped over the lip of the roof when she was grasped by the arm and yanked up from the ladder. Her world flipped over as a hand yanked the neck of her robe and thrust her against a wall, forcing stars into her eyes. A hand pressed against her throat and a looming presence pressed against her. When she finally cleared her vision, she glanced up into the burning golden gaze of Master Assassin Altair Ibn-La'Ahad. 

Myra felt his breath roll across her face as he growled. "That kill was mine," he said lowly, squeezing her throat lightly in his hand.

Myra choked and grabbed the hand at her throat, struggling to pull it loose. In response, Altair grabbed her wrists with his free hand and held them above her head. She squirmed against his hold and Altair smirked. 

"That's right," Altair whispered, leaning in towards her, "writhe for me like the whore you are. I've seen the way Malik looks at you. How many times has he known you? Is that how you gained your spot as an Assassin?" Altair's eyes shone mercilessly, staring unflinchingly into Myra's, which were darkening by the second. 

Suddenly, determination flashed in her eyes, followed by mischievousness. "If that kill was yours, then explain how a _whore_ managed to beat you to it," she challenged, baring her teeth at him in a bold grin.

Altair's eyes flashed in anger as he pressed her harder into the wall, forcing a groan from her. "You forget your place, woman. You will pay for meddling in my affairs."

"You took my kill first!" she interrupted defiantly, straining against his hands.

The master assassin's brow tightened. She dared retaliate against him? If she had not been a woman, he might have begrudgingly respected her resolve, but that was not the case. He was not a man to be trifled with, and he would personally ensure she learned that lesson.

He adjusted his grip so he held her wrists firmly with his left hand, extending his hidden blade and holding it delicately to her temple. A menacing smirk slid onto his face, superiority flooding through him. "I could kill you right here and no one would suspect a thing. The Templars are not known for their mercy, and my word carries weight," he threatened. He drew the blade down an inch down her cheek, a thin line of blood dripping from wound. To her credit, she didn't flinch.

"You would dare kill a brother?" Myra interrogated.

Altair snorted in derision. "You are no brother of mine. You are merely a harlot who managed to curry favor with Al-Mualim." 

The two of them stood there, their eyes locked in a fierce, defiant glare. Myra was practically boiling over with rage. Her whole body was tense, desperate to strike the man before her, but with his blade at her temple, one wrong move could incapacitate her. To make matters worse, her ankle was starting to weaken from the strain she had put on it. If it gave out, she wasn't sure she could avoid the knife in time. 

The assassins heard muffled footsteps and they both instantly came to attention, Altair instinctively flattening himself over the restrained woman. With her hands still trapped and the knife now under her neck, he breathed in her ear, "Make a sound and you die."

The noise was drawing closer, and in the same instant they realized it was coming from the stairs. Probably a guard on patrol. Altair cursed, his breath rolling across her cheek. Then his hand slid down her thigh, sparking a shiver and a bout of nausea. What the hell was he doing? His fingers brushed against her skin, sending blood rushing to her face, but she didn't dare make a sound with the knife still at her throat.

Suddenly, he dashed away, disappearing just as the guard peeked over the roof. Her arms fell heavy to her sides as the guard spotted her. "Assassin!" he cried, clamoring up the rest of the ladder as quickly as he could. Myra reached down for her knives, but found nothing. They were missing! That bastard Altair must have taken them! She would have cursed, but she barely had time to think before she was forced to flee the roof, trying to ignore the weakness in her ankle as she stumbled away. She catapulted herself to an adjacent roof using her good leg, landing with a somersault before dashing around a corner, finding relief in a darkened corner. She lifted her hood, dropped into the crawlspace, and hugged the wall, her mind reeling as she tried to figure out how she would escape if the guard found her.

The next few seconds were tense as she strained her ears, listening to the footsteps above her. She took shallow breaths as she pressed against the wall, hoping her dusty robes would conceal her well enough in the shadows. After a minute of tortuous silence, she heard the footsteps head in the opposite direction, whispering along the rooftop before thudding heavily to a lower roof.

Myra finally let herself breathe again, reveling in the silence before her anger bubbled to the surface. That bastard! He had humiliated her and, worse than that, he had taken her knives. Her knives! He would pay for that, and she would reclaim her pride. With new determination, she made her way back to the Bureau.


End file.
